Dust and Ash

Hands filled with dust and ash

relentless cycle of earth, moon, and sun.

What was once future blurs into past;

tendons ache as we try to hold on

to that which we cannot grasp

victimized by gravity.

Life implodes upon itself

into a new sense of reality.

Two Poems Published

"The Literary Lion" and "The Salesman's Son" appear on Lyrical Passion Poetry E-zine.

Please check the website out.

The Salesman’s Son 

The returning always seems 
swifter than the leaving until 
you get closer to where you leave 
again. Then time expands, stretching 
out like thick rubber bands 
that bound his mileage books together. 
I hated his leaving: never there 
ever present eyes that followed 
me every day of my life. They haunt 
me even now. I don’t remember 
a day hating him, not really; 
no animosity there— 
just a pained and plain indifference. 
Ever-present-always-absent. 
I used to want to wish him to Hell. 
But I could not bring myself 
to care that much. 
The room still carries the scent of urine 
reminiscent of my father 
on his final birthday 
two weeks before he said goodbye 
the last time. The leaving now 
somehow seemed longer than 
before. The regretful ragged breath 
could never express his hazel eyes. 
Time expands, stretching out 
and then he is gone once again.

The Literary Lion

We wander into an old

book store: into a palace

of pages, this tomb of tomes—

and there we drink tea            

surreptitiously stealing

words. Feeling the guilt

of my theft and to make

amends I procure

a lean chapbook of poems.

Baptized into the bright

light flooding through

streaked window pane

I find myself crying

out with Isaiah over

prison cells, saying

Kiddush for a day old

child, wandering empty

down the streets of old

Manhattan: an immigrant friend

     of homeless children.

Lament for Corinth

Father, they’ve divided my body!

Stretching my arms so they cannot cross

they pound nails and tear my flesh.

Forgive them; they know not what they do.

Father, they’ve divided my clothes!

Playing games around this sacred cross,

they fight over torn pieces of cloth.

Forgive them; they know not what they do.

Father, they’ve divided my people!

How soon they forget the word of the cross,

they rip and they tear my body in two.

Forgive them; they know not what they do.

Aftermath of a Teenage Romance

Her name was Rosa and I was in love,
transfixed by her deep crystal eyes.
I was too senseless to know the difference
between transfixed and being impaled.
It seems to me that a rose by any
other name still draws blood.

Snow Queen

desolate waste land
wind, rain, ice and blowing snow
tears from a cold heart

Serenity

a night for drinking
green tea sweet with blueberries
stillness in a cup

Release

Rope burns calloused hands,

panic and fatigue set in,

wet palms grip tighter.

Failure close at hand:

stomach churns in frustration.

Peace found in release.